


counterspell

by megatronn



Series: EXR LESBIAN INDIAN WITCHES AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6053332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megatronn/pseuds/megatronn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire groans out loud this time, she can’t help it, ‘Are you telling me, that Cosette is now green, covered in boils and can hardly speak?’ </p><p>‘Yes. Well, she can talk, but it’s difficult to understand what she’s saying.’ </p><p>Grantaire cannot believe that this is her life. </p><p>‘We don’t really think it hurts her too much, it’s just, there is pus everywhere she goes. She’s like a slug, really, leaving slime everywhere behind. I mean, I haven’t seen her, exactly, but I slipped on the slime once.’ Enjolras pauses then, turning to give the boy standing outside the rickshaw a ten rupee note. Grantaire has to admire his persistence. It’s rare to see people asking for money when it’s raining.</p><p>‘On the bright side, I don’t think the intent was particularly malicious, more of an inconvenience, really.’</p><p>Grantaire cannot believe that this is her fucking life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	counterspell

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Witchboy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051375) by [tothewillofthepeople](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothewillofthepeople/pseuds/tothewillofthepeople). 



> My ideas for what Enjolras and Grantaire look like come from a wonderful Tumblr artist and her witches, [here](http://corrah.tumblr.com/post/124190897425/i-love-space-witches) and [here](http://corrah.tumblr.com/post/133638803465/rough-luka-witch-design)
> 
> also, clearly I am terrible at titles.
> 
> I'm super new to this whole prose writing thing, so any and all critiques are welcome.

Oh yes, Grantaire has missed this. The noise, the colour, the smells, Mumbai is always so, so _alive_ , thrumming with barely contained magic. She smiles when she sees Enjolras, standing by the arrivals, wearing her blue sari, her hair in a thick braid. If Grantaire focuses, enough, she can smell the faint traces of coconut oil washed out by the rosewood and jasmine.

 The scent calms her down, grounds her in a place whose magic pulls her in a million different directions.

 ‘Hello, my darling angel.’ She says smiling, not surprised when Enjolras doesn’t even blink. Just turns and starts walking, expecting Grantaire to follow.

 ‘How was your flight?’ The question seems forced, almost angry, and Grantaire thinks she knows exactly why. She supposes now isn’t exactly the time to push it or argue her case, though.

 ‘Oh, you know, not too bad. I got upgraded to first class. So I got lots of free alcohol.’ Grantaire crows, not missing the face Enjolras makes, the slight upturn of her nose. It’s cuter than it has any right to be.

 It's been a long two hour flight, following an eight hour bus journey,  so she wants to bang her head against the wall as she follows Enjolras onto the streets to get a rickshaw. She doesn't understand Enjolras' irrational dislike of cabs. 

 And so Grantaire follows, like she is wont to do. She revels in the feels of Enjolras’ magic, and how she uses it to navigate the streets. Streets that are not easy to navigate even when you can see. And even if she does happen to ogle Enjolras’ ass, and the way the chiffon material hugs her hips, nobody has to know.

 

**

 The rattle of the rickshaw and the noise outside makes it difficult to talk, so for the most part, Grantaire leans forward and stares outside. She doesn’t miss how the songs keep playing even though the old radio sitting in the front isn’t working, or how the rickshaw is almost falling apart, but not quite.

 Or how despite the fact that it started raining about five minutes ago, the windscreen is still clear, and not a single drop of water has managed to enter the vehicle.

 It’s impressive, she thinks, how people use their magic to help survive their daily lives. Impressive also because the runes the man has carved all over the rickshaw, are old, faded, but the magic is still very powerful. She doesn’t think he’ll have to redo them for the next couple of years at least.

 It’s a damned shame, she thinks, because this man probably doesn’t even know how powerful he is.

 ‘So I see the city hasn’t changed since the last time I was here.’ She says, just to make conversation. Because she missed hearing Enjolras’ voice, and sometimes, she would listen to the voice notes Enj sent her late into the night when she wasn’t able to get any sleep.

 ‘You were gone for less than a month, Grantaire, what did you expect?’ the annoyance evident in her voice. Grantaire supposes that it isn’t long enough time for anything to change, let alone Enjolras’ hatred of small talk.

 ‘I’m just trying to make conversation here, Enj. I’ve missed you.’

 ‘Trying to make conversation?’ and Grantaire isn’t expecting the sharpness in voice, and she wishes she’d just kept her mouth shut because she now knows exactly where this is going to go.

 ‘How about we make conversation about the fact that you almost got yourself killed. How about we make conversation regarding your reckless behavior and the fact that you didn’t fucking tell us you were jumping right into any fire. If something had happened – Grantaire, if anything had happened, you would have been dead – you would have been dead and we wouldn’t have even fucking known!’ Enjolras’ voice has steadily been increasing in volume, and Grantaire is thankful that it is raining, the rain splattering so loudly against roofs, that there isn’t a chance of anyone else hearing.

 The auto driver, for his part, doesn’t seem to care.

 

**

‘I don’t know what to tell you, Enj. I’m not going to apologise. You know as well as I do that if I hadn’t gotten involved in the conflict, more people would have died. They were killing children, Enj. And you fucking know how those militant assholes get. And besides, it’s not like they caught me.’ She thinks it’s probably best not to mention the fact that she did, in fact, get caught. And the only reason she’s managed to get free is because the men guarding her were incompetent fools.

 ‘Don’t fucking play with me Grantaire. You know as well as I do that I’m not angry with you for intervening. Any of us would have done the same. But would it have fucking killed you to tell us? How fucking long does it take to pick up a fucking phone? And don’t even fucking try to tell me it wasn’t working, because we spoke fairly fucking often.’

 Enjolras is right. But Grantaire doesn’t really know what to tell her, because she doesn’t have a good enough excuse. ‘Jesus, I know,’ she says, running her hand over her face, ‘But I didn’t fucking think OK? It just happened, it was all too fucking sudden and the last thing on my mind was telling you guys. And I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. But I’m so fucking tired, and icky from travelling in a plane for the last two hours. So give me a goddamn break and you can yell at me later, alright?’

 She knows that she doesn’t have the right to be angry, she remembers the phone call she got right after the found out, and it didn’t really hit her until she heard Gav’s voice on the phone, frantic and scared. In hindsight, she realises that she really should have informed them.

 ‘Do not act like we don't have the right to be angry with you. And I will let this be, just for now.' there is barely controlled anger in her voice, 'There's a problem that we need you to deal with. And seeing as you are currently alive, this _problem_ , holds more precedence.' 

 'What happened now?'

 'Cosette’s been cursed. We think it was probably someone after Valjean, because it always fucking is. Someone Javert hired, we’re thinking Montparnasse. Javert can’t seem to get enough of our beloved Jean. You know how much they like to one up each other.’ Enjolras’ voice is all business now, Grantaire admires her for her practicality and ability to compartmentalize. It’s probably one of the reasons Enjolras makes such a good leader. She knows exactly when to push.

 Grantaire sighs, of course there’d be another curse for her to break. Her friends are incapable of not pissing people off. (It is strange to think that Valjean is now part of this list) This sort of shit happens at least once a fucking month, and Grantaire just really wishes it would stop. And more often than not, it's always Valjean, and his stupid fucking pissing contest with Javert. Grantaire really doesn't understand why Jean even bothers giving him the time of day. 

 ‘Again? Fucking Christ, at least it’s not fucking Gavroche this time. I swear to god, that boy was more than happy to be a dog. If he had even tried to help, I’d have gotten him back to human form so much earlier.’ She sighs again, hopes that the curse isn’t one of those ridiculous animal transformations, because they are the _worst_. ‘What happened to Cosette? Wasn’t it something you guys could fix? Joly isn’t half bad at curses. And if Bahorel helped, I’m sure they’d be able to get it done between the two of them.’

 ‘We’ve tried. All of us have tried. But it isn’t helping. And nobody really wants to go near her because she stinks. It’s like something out of Harry Potter. It probably is something out of Harry Potter. Remember the ghoul in Ron’s attic who pretended to be Ron with spattergroit?’

 Grantaire groans out loud this time, she can’t help it, ‘Are you telling me, that Cosette is now green, covered in boils and can hardly speak?’

 ‘Yes. Well, she can talk, but it’s difficult to understand what she’s saying.’

 Grantaire cannot believe that this is her life.

 ‘We don’t really think it hurts her too much, it’s just, there is pus everywhere she goes. She’s like a slug, really, leaving slime everywhere behind. I mean, I haven’t seen her, exactly, but I slipped on the slime once.’ Enjolras pauses then, turning to give the boy standing outside the rickshaw a ten rupee note. Grantaire has to admire his persistence. It’s rare to see people asking for money when it’s raining.

 ‘On the bright side, I don’t think the intent was particularly malicious, more of an inconvenience, really.’

 Grantaire cannot believe that this is her fucking life.

 

**

Grantaire heads inside and leaves Enjolras to pay the rickshaw driver, she figures she had better get started with this curse breaking business immediately.

 Walking up the stairs to the bungalow where all the Amis stay, because they are a hugely codependent bunch, she is completely unsurprised by the running red bundle that accosts her when she opens the door.

 ‘I _missed_ you Grantaire.’ Says the said bundle as it buries its face in her stomach.

 ‘As I missed _you_ , my darling Gavroche.’ With a fond smile, if this was Grantaire five years ago, she would have gagged at the amount of affection in her voice.

 ‘Gav, you can hug R later, we need to go figure out this thing with Cosette.’ Says Enjolras, Grantaire is impressed, she doesn’t even have to use her powers of persuasion of Gavroche to listen. She walks right past and straight up the stairs. Expecting, like always, everyone to follow. And Grantaire does.

 ‘Where is everyone?’ she asks, because the house is unusually quiet, and it’s a bit disconcerting.

 ‘Working. You know this Grantaire. It's three o'clock in the afternoon. They should be back in another couple hours. Expect for Marius, maybe. He’s probably up in the room with Cosette.’ Enjolras replies. Grantaire can see her watching Gavroche, amused as he runs up ahead of both of them, carrying Grantaire’s bag in his hands, because he insisted.

 The bag should have been too heavy for him, but Grantaire can see the tendrils of magic that curl around the suitcase. She smiles again, she’s missed Gavroche, missed the way children are happy to do even the most tedious tasks with magic just because they can. And it’s nice, this unabashed joy they get, and it’s a damn shame that even magic starts to loose most of it’s magic as you grow older.

 She forgets, sometimes, how mundane their world would be without magic.

 

**

Grantaire smells Cosette before she sees her. She now knows why they kept her on the top floor in the most secluded room. This is fucking ridiculous. Grantaire can smell the sulphur and bitterness, and she didn’t know it was possible for a person to smell this bad.

 ‘Jesus, you could have fucking warned me, Enj.’ She says, grabbing the mask Enjolras hands her, she looks at the runes inscribed, looking up at Enjolras again as she puts it on.

 ‘I did warn you. I told you she stinks. Why do you think Gavroche left? He hates coming up here. The runes are to filter out the sulphur because the masks don’t do a good enough job on their own.’ She frowns, ‘I think Joly might have done them, though I’m not too sure. It feels like his magic.’

 ‘It probably is; he always did draw his runes a little bit more differently. Ferre is much more precise and meticulous.’ Says Grantaire, as she watches Enjolras pull the door open and peek inside.

 ‘Hey Cosette, R is here to see you. You mind if we come in?’ and  Enjolras doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, heading inside and beckoning Grantaire to follow. She wonders vaguely, if this is going to be her life, following Enjolras whenever she crooks a finger.

 Grantaire, who really, had only peripherally thought about what Cosette looked like, was definitely not expecting _this_. She’s lucky the mask covers most of her face, because she doesn’t think Cosette needs to have seen the expression on her face. It would not have been good for her morale.

 The room, since it is so rarely used, only has a bed, and a study with a chair. Marius is sitting on the chair. Looking mournfully across at Cosette, who seems to be doing everything in her power to look everywhere else but at Marius. Looking as though she’d like nothing better in the world than to kill him.

 Grantaire manages to tamp down on the snigger, she wouldn’t be surprised if Marius has been sitting there for the entirety of the time since Cosette was cursed, telling her how much he loves her, and how beautiful she is.

 Knowing Cosette, this probably hasn’t gone down very well.

 ‘Hey Cosette, don’t you look lovely.’ And Cosette, with her bloated green face, and red boils covering her skin, looks like she wants to smile. But Grantaire can’t really tell. 

 

**

It doesn’t take too long to figure out who cast the spell. It’s obvious that it was Montparnasse, his magic is evident in every single line of the casting. Grantaire doesn’t know when she became so well-versed with his casting, it was probably around the 7th time he decided to go ahead and fuck around with the Amis.

 He just likes doing these things. Messing with people just because he can. He is powerful, in his own right, Grantaire just wishes he’d stop annoying the fuck out of them for kicks.

 And she knows that is all it is. She has seen his more malicious spells, but he knows that doing it to the Amis would be a tremendously bad idea. She wishes he’d stop. They’ve tried having him arrested, reported him on multiple occasions, but it never seems to pan out.

 ‘This casting is better than his usual, I can’t seem to find a loophole, I don’t know what he _used_ ,’ she says, touching the tendrils of magic, feeling them as they dance around Cosette. And their attitude is so much like Parnasse, dancing, laughing, pointing fingers, jumping out of her reach every time she comes close.

 ‘It’s probably going to take me a while.’ And Grantaire can see Cosette’s shoulders slump. She feels guilty, all of a sudden. She doesn’t know how long Cosette has been like this for, and she knows Cosette was probably hoping Grantaire would be able to give this a quick fix. She knows it’s not rational to feel guilty. But is not like she can help it. The heart was never a very rational creature. 

 ‘I’m sorry Cosette, this curse, it’s very – very unique. Parnasse probably decided to play around to get a curse put together. A curse like this. It’s hugely specific, and probably the only one of it’s kind. And if Javert asked him to do it, probably meant for your father, it’s probably more airtight than his usual ones. It’s not, it’s not unbreakable. But it’s going to take a while. Finding out how he cast it, is probably going to be the most difficult bit. The most important too.’ She says. ‘His magic is decidedly unhelpful.’ Frowning as it taunts her.

 Her heart breaks a little bit when Cosette hunches even further into herself. But there is nothing she can do. Not now.

 

**

Back in her room, she walks towards the terrace garden she keeps, keenly aware of Enjolras following her.

 ‘What are you going to do?’ she asks, hovering outside the door that leads into Grantaire’s green house. Grantaire has never been very comfortable with people entering her garden, she forgets sometimes that Enjolras is more perceptive than most.

 ‘I’m going to have to cast. The slime I collected along with some stephanotis and antirrhinum will probably give me a wide enough loop hole to work with.’ She says.

 ‘What flowers are you using? What will they do?’ Grantaire forgets sometimes, that despite how smart and well-versed Enjolras is, the language of flowers often flies over her head. Particularly when it comes to brewing, since that is their most frequent use. Grantaire remembers when she first met Enjolras and thought it was because she considered it beneath her, and it had rubbed at Grantaire the wrong way.

 She realised later that this was only because Enjolras was hilariously bad at magic that involved the brewing of potions.

 ‘It’s not failure or even giving up,’ as Enjolras frequently likes to remind her, ‘It’s knowing when you’re bad at something and not wasting energy on it when you could use the very same energy to do things you are much better at. I like to leave the brewing to people who are more competent at it.’

 Of course, Grantaire knows she has a basic understanding, they’re all required to learn the various disciplines, but she also knows that beyond secondary school teachings, Enjolras knows next to nothing. Brewing potions is important, useful, but not knowing how has never left Enjolras at a disadvantage.

 ‘The stephanotis is for luck, because I think I’m going to need it. The antirrhinum is to help me find the loop hole. It is generally used in spells cast for deception, but it works very well in finding weaknesses too.’

 Grantaire picks the pot she requires of off the shelves lining the back of her green room. It’s old, but the runes she has, those that help her find and seek are still powerful. Potions she has to drink so she can dream. She can feel the willow and oak that she had added to the mud. She can feel how excited it is to be used again.

 Enjolras is still hovering at the door. Grantaire knows she can’t see anything, but she still feels as though she’s being watched. Enjolras probably already has a good feel of her magic, if the way tendrils she can feel pocking and prodding at her are any indication. It’s more private and personal than if Enjolras could actually see.

 Grantaire doesn’t mind though, not particularly. She used too, back when her addictions were still strong and she felt more vulnerable. But this, this feels nice. Comfortable, some how. It’s good, to have Enjolras standing there while she brews.

 Her brewing is crude, but it doesn’t matter, she knows people who brew with more finesse than her, but at the end of the day, intent is just as important, sometimes, even more so.

 It takes three hours for the flowers to mix, for them to form a thin lilac paste. Grantaire has had to stay there for the entirety of the three hours, it’s not strictly conventional to sit with the potions while they brew, but she doesn’t like leaving the potions to brew by themselves. She finds them lacking in strength afterwards.

 Her heart swells, with fondness and a softness for Enjolras, when she sees her still there. Sitting cross legged at the door, reading a book she probably summoned while Grantaire was brewing.

 It’s not pleasant, when Grantaire adds the slime and it turns to a sludgy blue-grey, she tries valiantly not to think about having to drink it.

 

**

It doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes for the sludge to mix well enough.

 ‘What are you going to do with it now?’ pipes up Enjolras from where she’s been sitting for the past two, maybe three hours. Grantaire doesn’t even bother to ask her how she knows, being blind, as she has been so frequently told, makes your other senses a lot stronger.

 ‘Drink it, sleep. And hopefully when I wake up, it’ll tell me how the spell was cast.’ Grantaire loves Cosette, she loves all of the Amis, really, but she hates the things she has to do for them. Particularly when they involve drinking potions mixed with slime.

 She hopes, but feels it is unlikely that the flowers will cover its scent. Making the brew at least a bit more bearable to drink.

 ‘I’m hoping it was an object cast.’ She says, ‘Easier to find, easier to destroy.’

 ‘Yes, I know. Makes sense. I hope it’s not spoken. Finding Parnasse is not going to be fun’ Enjolras says, ‘Are you going to drink it now?’ she asks after sniffing at the air, her nose turning up, her mouth is upturned, and Grantaire laughs, and thanks her stars that her nose isn’t as sensitive as Enj’s. She doesn’t think she’d be able to drink half the brews she managed to concoct.

 It’s also a little late for epiphanies, but Grantaire suddenly understands. Enjolras’ dislike of brewing becomes rather a lot more clear, Grantaire wonders how she took so long to realise.

 The potion is, of course, disgusting, but Grantaire is so used to it by now, her taste buds hardly complain.

 

**

When Grantaire wakes up, it’s dark, and she knows two things for certain. One, it was an object spell. Two, the curse is indefinite. And if they don’t find the object, Cosette is never going to be Cosette again.

 She must have slept for a lot longer than expected. She feels better now, tired, still. And she wants to go back to sleep. But the smell of the curry wafting through her door makes her force herself out of bed.

 Oh, how she has missed darling Jehan’s cooking.

 She tries to discern the smells, and oh, oh, there is [misal pav](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misal_Pav), and [sol kadi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solkadhi), and [sabudana khichdi](http://www.sanjeevkapoor.com/Recipe/Sabudana-Khichdi.html), and she can smell [mutton xacuti](http://bongong.com/bg/recipe/Chicken_Xacuti). She doesn’t know what possessed Jehan to make so much of food, food that does not exactly work together, but she is not complaining.

 Food, it’s also probably Jehan saying, I missed you and I’m glad you’re alive. A sentiment she can get behind even though she feels guilty about the second bit.

 She can hear Ferre, Enjolras and Bahorel discussing their latest endeavor, talking to the government about creating schooling and housing for the homeless. Bills that are taking an age to pass because nobody wants to expend the money.

 Courfeyrac and Joly arguing good naturedly about the medic’s fear that he too seems to be developing some form of what happened to Cosette. This is, of course, untrue, since curses don’t transfer from one person to another once they’ve already been implement. Grantaire knows that Joly knows this.

 She can’t discern the rest of the voices, but the raucous laughter that she can hear is more than enough indication that everyone is there. Everyone but Cosette. And maybe Marius. It’s sweet, she thinks, his devotion to Cosette, not so different than her devotion to Enjolras. Although, the two are fundamentally different, in the sense that Marius’ devotion is requited.

 The smell of home is thick in the air, and Grantaire wonders again how she could have gone a month without this.

 She doesn’t really say anything, just stands at the doorway and watches them talk and laugh. It feels so, so good to be back. Éponine spots her first, a brilliant smile taking over her face, as she jumps up and runs to her.

 ‘R, R, I’m so glad you’re back. You had us worried sick.’ She says, before pulling back and hitting Grantaire in the shoulder. Because of course, anything remotely sappy and emotional has to be followed by something less so. Grantaire smiles right back. Big, and bright, and so easy.

 Everyone gets up to hug her then, even Gavroche. Marius, is, as she expected, not there, and Enjolras is the only one still seated, but she doesn’t hold it against her. It would be frustrating to move amongst the crowd, and they already did great each other before. But Grantaire can see the curl of her lips, the way she is trying not to hide the fact that she is smiling. They haven’t hugged yet, but Grantaire vows to get that done before the night is up.

 She forgets sometimes, how much the Amis care for her. It is clear now, in the way Courfeyrac hugs her, stands back and touches her cheek, and says, ‘You need to start taking better care of yourself,’ the way Bahorel grabs her and tell her, ‘the next time you do something so colossally stupid, I swear I’m going to kill you myself,’ when Joly comes up to her next, ‘I’m so glad you’re alright.’

 Grantaire has parents, wealthy parents even, that gave her anything she could possibly want, but not this. Never this, the warmth of family, and the love and tenderness they have for each other. She doesn’t know how she got so blessed, but she refuses to question it.

 The rest of dinner passes, with conversation that flows easily, and food that is so good, Grantaire wants to marry it. None of them bring up the fact that she was in the middle of a militant conflict that could have killed her, she doesn’t know why, but she is glad for it.

 It is only later, when the dishes have been cleared, and everyone is sated, that Enjolras asks about her progress with Cosette’s curse. And everyone settles down to listen. It’s always unnerving when this happens, because it feels just like one of their meetings, and the way her friends go from being loud and boisterous to serious and sober in a second is creepy.

 ‘It’s an object.’ She says, ‘I don’t know what the hell the object is, but I don’t think it’s in this house. Must have been slow acting. Or one of those curses that start at midnight. And knowing how Parnasse, it probably is. I don’t know exactly what happened to her – I don’t really know much at all. But we need to find whatever cursed object he used, and we need – we need to destroy it.’

 ‘And what if we don’t find it?’ its Marius who asked, she doesn’t even know when he came downstairs.

 ‘Well, she’ll probably be like that for the rest of her life.’

 ‘What about, what about if we get Montparnasse to reverse it?’ he asks, his voice is trembling, and Grantaire doesn’t think Cosette will have to remain like this, because it should not be too difficult to find the object, but she understands Marius’ worry.

 ‘That won’t do an ounce of good. Marius, Parnasse is deceptively good at what he does. Most curses can always, always be broken, but Parnasse makes sure that the ways in which the curses he casts can be broken are very few.’ It’s unnerving, how good Parnasse is, with his magic, their only saving grace is the fact that most of them are more powerful than him, and consequently, he is absolutely terrified of them.

 But for some reason, it still doesn’t stop him from being a right pain and annoying the ever loving shit out of her. She thinks, then, of Gavroche, and how she’s so glad to have him here, that they were able to give him and Éponine a home, she doesn’t want to think of what would have happened to him, and how he would have turned out otherwise.

 

**

 Enjolras and Grantaire are the last to leave. They walk side by side up the stairs, when they reach the door to Grantaire’s room. Enjolras, stops, and very seriously, placing one hand on Grantaire’s cheek, a cheek that grows hot with the touch, says, ‘Please don’t do anything stupid like that again. When you’re ready to talk about it again, let me know. Because I am not done yelling at you yet.’ She pauses then, running a thumb over Grantaire’s brow, ‘I – I missed you.’ She says softly.

 And Grantaire, who knows how much Enjolras tries to keep trivial feelings of love and affection out of the way, ‘It’s distracting,’ she says, feels absolutely content, and so very happy.

 ‘Yes, Enj, I missed you too.’ And the blinding smile Grantaire gets in return is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

 She wishes she could drown in it.

 Grantaire is almost certain, that she hasn’t imagined the kiss Enjolras planted on her forehead before walking away.

 

**

The next day, Grantaire is woken up, at an ungodly, ungodly hour. She has half a mind to go back to sleep, but the knocking is persistent. It takes her ten minutes to put on her salwar and kurta, her body and brain protesting every minute of the way.

 ‘What? It’s six o’clock in the fucking morning. What?’ It’s Marius, standing at her door, looking oddly determined and a little bit frightened. _Good_ , she thinks vindictively. She wishes he were terrified of her enough so as not to wake her up at six fucking am though.

 ‘We think we know what it is. We think we’ve found it!’ he says, standing there looking so, so excited.

 ‘Jesus, were you an Cosette talking about this the entire night?’ she asks, because now that she looks closely enough, she notices that he looks a little bit manic, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

 ‘Yes,’ he says, looking adorably confused, as only he can, ‘What else would we be doing?’

 ‘How did you even manage to _talk_ to her? She could hardly speak when I went up to meet her yesterday,’ she says in between a yawn. She just wants to go back to _sleep_.

 ‘Well, she can make sounds? And it took her a while, but I finally figured out what she was trying to say!’ he’s bouncing on his toes now, ‘Mr. Valjean bought an hourglass! From Babet! But Cosette was the one who opened it! We think that’s how it got to her R!’ She stifles her smile, Marius is the only one who calls Valjean, Mr. Valjean. It’s oddly endearing. But then and again, _everything_ about Marius is oddly endearing.

 ‘Jesus, why the fuck was Valjean buying an hourglass? Why the fuck did he buy it from Babet?’ she says, pulling on her dupatta and walking towards the common bathroom to see if anyone’s left some mouthwash. She doesn’t have time to brush her teeth.

 ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. We can ask him when we get to his place, I already spoke to him. So he should be expecting us within the next half an hour or so.’

 When they finally make their way down to the garage, Grantaire refuses to let Marius drive. The boy is a terrible driver, and she’s a lot faster than he is.

 

** 

 It’s too easy, then, to find the hourglass. Valjean bought it from Babet, he thinks it was because he was persuaded. Which is a fair point, Valjean has always been very susceptible to a sad story.

 The ease with which they find the hourglass and destroy it, makes Grantaire uncomfortable, makes her suspicious. Even more so when the effect is instantaneous, and they get a call from Cosette, who sounds like she’s been crying.

 When they get back to the house, Cosette jumps and hugs Marius, giving him a kiss that is a tad too deep for company. They hug her then, together, and she looks over their shoulders at Enjolras, who is sitting on the settee, smiling big and bright.

 And she still feels it was all too easy, but for now, with everyone smiling and happy, it isn’t too difficult to be grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly, they do not live in a bungalow, they live in a MANSION. If you are curious, I imagine Bishop Myriel offered it to them, after learning of the kind of work they do and the space they needed. 
> 
> Haha, as you can see, mid way through, I threw in a lot of random dishes that I love because I really miss home and food. LOL
> 
> And I suppose it's a bit strange, reading about French revolutionaries in India, but, willing suspension of disbelief and all that. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> 


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